A Piece of String
by Mestizaa
Summary: A quiet moment in the winter of 1914. The start of many things to come. For Kouw. My contribution to the Chelsie Holiday Exchange.


Dear Kouw,

I have listened to your request for no massive angst or character death. But because it's me, there's a_ tiny_ bit of angst. I promise that mentioning WWI is as bad as it gets.

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy your gift!

* * *

><p><strong>A Piece of String<strong>

_Six weeks,_ they said. _The war will be over in six weeks._

When the Germans dug themselves into trenches, it became clear that it would be much longer before peace would arrive.

_It will be over by Christmas_, they said.

And now the days are getting shorter. Leaves have fallen and the trees are left naked against the frigid wind and icy rain. Christmas is fast approaching and there is no end in sight.

So Mrs Hughes knits.

She's heard murmurings of a new campaign to send soldiers knitted garments at the front. It's the least she can do while the boys live and die for King and country.

She sits on her settee, and carefully tries to balance her ongoing project on her lap. Four double-pointed needles held it together, and it was starting to resemble the toe of a sock. It was a simple pattern, one she's completed many times with varying degrees of success. She remembers with a nostalgic smile how she could never get the tension in the yarn right, so no two socks were ever the same size. It was one of the first patterns her mother had ever taught her. It was also one of the first she had ever mastered.

And at times, it could also be a very tedious pattern.

She wraps the grey yarn around her needle and pulls through to create a knit stitch. And another. There wasn't going to be much variation until she reached the heel.

Sighing, she stands and grabs a new book from her desk. Propping it up against the arm of the settee, Mrs Hughes keeps a knee pressed up against it, while her hands continue to work. She's done this pattern a million times. But keeping one eye on the book and another on her stitches is proving to be an impossible task.

"What are you doing?" Mr Carson's voice startles her. She jerks upright and turns to see him standing perplexed by her door.

"I'm trying to knit and read at the same time," she sighs and lets the book fall closed on her lap. "As it turns out, I'm not very good at multi-tasking. I suppose it will have to be one or the other."

He steps towards her, and reaches for the novel. "May I?"

She nods questioningly.

He pulls up a chair, opens the book to the first page and begins reading. "'All children, except one, grow up.'" Mr Carson pauses and raises an eyebrow.

She shrugs. "I was feeling whimsical."

Instead of responding, or chiding her choice in literature as she had expected, he continues to read. "'They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this…'"

At first, she doesn't quite know how to react. She blinks, mesmerized by his deep voice. The inflection as he reads, the way he emphasizes certain words, pausing dramatically in all the right places... He brings life to the words on the pages.

Her fingers start to move again. Wrapping the thin yarn around her needles and, pulling it through, her fingers dance and manipulate the yarn into something beautiful.

Mr Carson trails off at the end of the first chapter and watches her quick movements as she completes the row.

"My mother used to knit," he finally says. Mrs Hughes is surprised how forthcoming he is with this information. She bites her lip and waits to see if there is more. "I could spend hours watching her create a masterpiece from what is essentially a piece of string."

"Oh me too," Mrs Hughes smiles and places her needles aside. "I remember being so excited when my mother taught me how to make my first dishcloth," she laughs. "I was so impatient. It was a disaster."

Mr Carson smiles. "I for one am glad you kept at it."

"Me too," she responds softly, her eyes darting to her small project. She looks back up at him. "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, Mr Carson."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs Hughes. Perhaps we can do this again?"

Her heart flutters strangely in her chest. "You're only offering because you want to get to part of the story with the pirates," she accuses him lightly.

"Mrs Hughes!" He brings a hand to his chest, and mocks indignation. "My offer is merely my contribution to the war effort."

She rolls her eyes.

"I was not even aware this story had pirates!" he continues to protest.

She raises an amused eyebrow. "And now that you do?"

"Well now we have to finish the story," Mr Carson states matter-of-factly.

Mrs Hughes smiles. "I'll be sure to keep you to that."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Random historical notes:<span>**

-Having a fresh supply of socks was an effective way of preventing trench foot at the frontline. Many civilians at home knitted socks for relatives in the trenches, but a huge number spent the war years turning out thousands of socks for soldiers they didn't know. There were huge campaigns to incentivize knitting. Many clubs and social organizations either added knitting to their regular activities or raised funds to supply wool and needles for knitters, or to ship comfort packages to the troops. Eventually, even the Red Cross started to produce and distribute standardized sock patterns.

-I don't know if Mrs Hughes would have necessarily knit communally- she is after all, a very busy lady. But I do think that she would have found time in those quiet moments to do her bit.

-The book Mr Carson reads is _Peter Pan _by J.M Barrie. I know it might seem like a strange choice at first, but I have my reasons (which will be left up for interpretation... unless you really want to know. Then I'll tell.)

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into the story of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes :)


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